PART II

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He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple
moor,

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A red-coat troop came marching—
Marching—marching—

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King George's men came marching, up
to the old inn-door.

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They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her
narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!

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"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say—

Look for me by moonlight;

Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar
the way!

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They had tied her up to attention, with many a
sniggering jest;
They had bound a musket beside her, with the
barrel beneath her breast!

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She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat of
blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours
crawled by likes years,

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The tip of one finger touched it; She strove no more
for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel
beneath her breast…..

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Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still!

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Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep
breath,

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Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and
warned him--with her death.

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He turned; he spurred to the west; he did not know
who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with
her own red blood!

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How Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died
in the darkness there.

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Back, he spurred like a madman, shouting a curse to
the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his
rapier brandished high!

15
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the
bunch of lace at his throat.

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And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in
the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy
seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple
moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

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Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-
yard;
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked
and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be
waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

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Thank you……

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